


Soldier Boys and Lamplight Hearts

by CasperWild



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Multi, Things They Carried AU, Vietnam War AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:53:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3632193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasperWild/pseuds/CasperWild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you love someone, you want to keep them safe beyond all measure. When you're a soldier, you're supposed to only love your country. But we carry our humanity into war-- tucked between our bedroll and canteens. And sometimes we forget to leave our heart off the battlefield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soldier Boys and Lamplight Hearts

The sun beats down so hard it's like we've done something to offend it. A bright, burning ball of relentless heat that stings my skin, urging up angry brown and black dots on red patches of my body. They coat my cheeks -- just out of reach from the protection of the rim of my helmet. They cover my shoulders and back too, drawn out from long days of shirtless work spent building camp and servicing weapons. Sunburns and freckles, both creating a new image of the person my mother gets back home in photographs. She writes me each week, telling me that every new picture makes her day. She tells me over and over again I haven't been this tan since I was a kid, running around carelessly on the beach near our home. But this place is nothing like home. The heat is far more intense than any summer I can remember and the moisture makes wearing clothes a chore, but being naked isn't much better. Some of the men in my company walk around shirtless and pantless in our camps, others covered in every bit of gear they've got. 

The weather isn't the only thing that makes this so different from home though. The rice patties are alien. The jungle is nothing like even the most descriptive books in America can even get close to. The villages here are different too. Most of them are small, at least on this side of Vietnam. Most of them are war-struck, hunger-struck, and angry. Like kids being punished for no reason, just looking for someone to lash out on. 

When we first arrived in Vietnam, Company Omega- 501, we were a twenty three men strong group. It wasn't big, like many platoons, just enough to call ourselves something. The Five O' One. Back in boot camp, we called ourselves powerful. We called ourselves courageous. But back then there were twenty three of us. It's been two months now, a short time to those watching the news but a long time to those of us stationed here. We make the time pass though-- sometimes too slow for our liking, other times it's way too fast but it's how time moves. In peace time, I crack open a notebook-- hard cover. It was a gift from my mother, my very own name carved into the cover with my very first hunting knife which I never used to kill a thing. My mother always told me I had too kind of a heart to ever hurt anyone. Even at school, with other kids picking on my tan skin and freckled face, I never stood up and did anything. It worried her each and every day. I came home with new bruises and scrapes, half hearted excuses making their way up behind me in the doorway. 

She couldn't make me fight, though she did try. She signed me up for fighting and self defense classes but I never really learned a damn thing. My teacher told me it was because I spent too much time staring out the window. I was like a balloon caught in the wind, head in and clouds and frankly, not as sharp as I could be. But while I was learning nothing, my mother continued to worry. She worried I wasn't letting anything out-- that one day I'd explode and do something I'd really regret. So instead of letting me do that, she bought my a journal. It didn't stop the fights at school. It didn't stop the teasing. But I liked it. And here, I still like it. Tiny, scribbly hand writing that's barely legible lingers on each page. I want to make each bit of it last. I spend far too much time trying to fit my entire life story just into this one little thing. 

But it's how I cope. 

It's how I prefer to see this war. 

If I can forget now, maybe I can come back and read it through rose colored glasses. Maybe I can pass it on to my kids, let them read it and see if they call me a hero by the end of it. 

It could be worse though, a journal is one of the only things that fits inside my pack. Stuffed in there with a couple pens and there is no weight added that would hinder me in combat. My company sees me take out from time to time but no one purposely goes out of their way to read it. Instead, they let me have my rituals like they have there own. 

Tanaka was the first person I had met in boot camp, full of energy and a happiness to indulge himself on the battlefield. One of the older ones among us, he was constantly helping out the younger cadets to try and get them in fighting shape. With his rugged smile and twang in his talk, he didn't seem like the superstitious type but around his neck laid three sets of dog tags. One was his very own. One was his father's. And one was his brothers. Both older men being veterans sparked Tanaka's love for the war. He wanted nothing more than to follow in their footsteps and make his way out in one piece with a couple metals to boot. Each day he woke up at the crack of dawn, a little bit before the rest of us and just as he watched the sun come up, he kissed the tags, like a promise he'd be home soon. It was a ritual. He couldn't go on with his day without doing it. But in the end, he was just a twenty three year old staring into the sky, dreaming of the future just like the rest of us. 

Sugawara was the oldest of our company, out beloved medic. He had uppers and downers, stabilizers and tranquilizers. Yet, to the hatred of most of our druggies, he didn't hand them out for recreational use. He was a good man at the age of twenty seven with a big heart and a warm smile. Some of the younger kids called him Mom as a joke, but he didn't take offense. He wasn't the type to get offended. Instead, he took everything with a grain of salt, always mellow even if he wasn't supposed to be. It caused rumors, many pointing to him dipping into his supply once and a while and others mentioning a malicious person behind the refreshing mask. But I didn't see that at all in him. Suga was just a motherly figure. He kept us safe and we did the same for him. But just like everyone else, he was a dreamer. He had a wandering mind. Times alone, times at night when he just couldn't sleep, I'd manage to catch him peering into a little pocket watch he had. It wasn't anything antique. Nothing that's been in his family for generations. But I'd still catch him, no matter what, looking into that pocket watch like it was the world in the palm of his hands. Each day, he brought it out to battle, never exposing it, but I always knew it was there by the way he patted his pocket at the first sound of a gun going off. I wondered what it was. But with the sadness that crossed his eyes when he gazed into it--I didn't have the heart to ask. 

Daichi was our company head , one of our men that would lay down their lives for you and you'd instantly do the same. He was strict but wore a smile as he gave orders. He was a thrill to follow. He embodied everything a soldier should be. Happy to do his job. Patriotic. Proud. Willful. Brave. He was the entire package and blew many of the younger cadets away. With a tiny temper, it was a sight to watch him get riled up but besides that, he was nothing but a great, vital member to our team. With Sugawara by his side and his strict but loving disciple he did get the nic name of team Dad. It was all in jest though it did rile him sometimes. The best times involving Suga playing in on the joke which was rare but amazing to see. Daichi could never yell at him after all and it amused each and every one of us. Though for the things we all carry into this battle ground, Daichi's weren't concrete. They weren't objects that I caught him peering at or good luck charms. The weights he bore were heavy and mental, only caught in the crows feet at the corner of twenty five year old eyes that had seen too much. frown lines that were way too prominent for someone with such a lovely smile. A pained laugh we only caught on some nights. It wasn't physical. But it was still his own to carry along. 

For Asahi, each one of us had misinterpreted him the moment we locked eyes. I remember being petrified of him. Standing so tall with muscle. Long hair tied up and facial hair lining his jaw. He looked like someone that could break me in half but the moment he started to speak, I was convinced whoever it was matching up bodies with personalities up there, had a very cruel sense of humor when it came to this guy. He was the sweetest man I'd ever met. He wanted to go to school to be a vet, not a veteran but war was cruel and so was the draft. Asahi was shit with a gun. He fumbled with the mines. He'd cry if you asked him to slaughter any game. He did help Suga with medical though and he wasn't horrible. So we let him be. He was a big teddy bear and we all loved him. But those of us that signed up for the war felt pity for him. The draft took a toll on someone who wasn't cut out for it. Asahi loved his country to death but he didn't exactly want to fight for a war he didn't believe in. So he tried to do all he could to pretend he wasn't here. There was a ring, perched on his left hand index finger. Made of silver with a great, big, emerald in the middle. It was nice. Expensive probably. Though Asahi could only ever be found wearing it through the mud or fighting carelessly with it while he looked off into space. We didn't ask. We just watched, most, mesmerized. If you had seen the look on his face, you would be too. 

As a soldier, it's your duty to fight the proud fight but as a man, you find yourself quickly questioning your actions on the basis of right and wrong. The moment I laid eyes on Nishinoya, I felt my wrong trigger flare straight up. He was short, tiny, with a big smile and huge eyes. He didn't exactly look like a child but if I were to guess, he was no more than fifteen. Many of our company thought the same, even the actual underage soldiers began to question it but Noya was simply a mystery. Maybe it was falsified documents or maybe it was just the people up above being funny again, but one night Noya brought us all into a tent to clear this up. Tons of papers, all pointing to the ripe age of twenty. It was shocking. But it wasn't the most shocking fact about the little guy with so much fight in him. He was amazing with the explosives. Contrary to his jumping around, when you got him to sit tight, disarming or rebooting a mine-- he was all business and could get anything done in under five minutes. He didn't mess around and with that constant smile and motivation constantly leaking from his lips-- it eventually wasn't too hard to see him as a senior. At night, we'd all laid down beneath the stars and with his little body towards the middle of our pig pie, there Noya was. Just like his face when playing with mines-- he was serious. There was a little cross around his neck-- made of silver-- not hardly seen on the necks of soldiers but the way he touched it, messed with it was strange. He tugged very hard at it, almost willing it to break off-- sometimes even leaving violent marks on the back of his neck. Most men treated them like gold but for Noya, the object seemed cursed. 

As far as underage boys in our company go, we do have them. Many actually. Too many. I enlisted at the age of seventeen, not too young but still not old enough. Kageyama was sixteen, a child with big eyes but a strong built that made him look old enough. Hinata was just a couple months older than Kageyama, constantly teasing the younger about it too when they were out of reach of the officers' ears. But that's what made up their dynamic. A scout and his soldier. Hinata had sharp eyes and his small stature made him a very good candidate for scouting out the playing field ahead of all of us. The loud, boisterous child never stopped being just that but when it was time to work, Kageyama kept his trap shut. Though Hinata never stopped smiling. They'd be laying down in dung on the forest floor, crawling things climbing all over them and still, Hinata'd be smiling. It was who he was. He was quick and he'd point out enemy troupes, the places they drank and the places they'd sleep. It made ambushes possible. But Kageyama was the one who made scouting in the first place possible. He brought Hinata to an equilibrium and kept him safe. He was a sharp shooter-- a massive mind behind the scope of a gun you didn't want pointed in your direction. No one got as many kills and used that little ammo. Everyone called him a prodigy. Though the fantastic team did have their quirks, like their constant bickering and banter. And it did have it's weaknesses-- like each other. Each one cared a little too much for the other. So their carried both their own and the other's loads into battle. But with weight that heavy, they were burdened to sink. 

There were other duos in our company though-- two others that stand out at the top of their game. Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Hot and Cold. Heaven and Hell. Both were in their twenties and had been together since either boy could remember. There was no day in camp one didn't hear Oikawa's sing-song voice calling out for his "Iwa~", it was a joke among us to mimic it when we heard it which only flustered Iwa more and he only took it out on Oikawa. Constant strings of , "Assikawa" or "Shittykawa", or even the infamous, "Trashikawa" were thrown from his lips as he hit the taller boy. Though never, ever hard enough to hurt him. Everyone watching the spectacle couldn't believe the two were friends but when the night came and both boys were off camp, laying side by side to stare at the sky in mild conversation, no one could doubt how happy the looked. In war, they were terrific fighters. Iwa's brute strength, Oikawa's power with a rifle. Frankly, they were the best and shoo in's for medals in the future. But their power didn't make them great, it was one another. The two were gay as a can of monkeys too-- open about it even though the war would say they couldn't be allowed in if they were. Though no one reported them. Everyone had their own reasons for falling in love with who they did. Other platoons weren't so happy about it though. They'd make cruel jokes at the couple's expense. They'd even been attacked by fellow countrymen on more than one occasion. But it didn't matter to them. Each morning as the sun came up and everyone began to get moving, in the corner of your eye, you could catch Oikawa's body wound around Iwa's and a kiss melting them together. 

Kuroo and Kenma were similar. They weren't lovers like Oikawa and Iwa, at least not at the beginning, but they were more missing pieces to one another. What Kenma lacked in confidence, Kuroo made up for. What Kuroo lacked in subtlety, Kenma made up for. There was a story behind how they got here though. Neither boy wanted to go to war. Neither one thought this was the good fight but right at the age of eighteen, Kenma was given a letter and told to report to boot camp. Kuroo signed up that day. Where one went, the other followed. Kuroo was made for war. Brute strength and the mind that could easily go off into space so he didn't have to dwell on it. Though Kenma was not. Kenma was skin and bones, a small frame with a big mind but no heart to hold a gun and very little motivation as well. What kept him fighting though was his team mate. Without Kuroo, Kenma would've deserted. But for Kuroo, he stayed. They fed off one another. They kept one another alive. They carried one another on. One constant was known among them and it scared every on looker. If Kuroo died-- Kenma died. If Kenma died-- Kuroo died. It was a horrible pact but one already written in blood. 

For me though, watching all of these boys-- all of these men-- I knew it was best not to get attached. But I realized quickly you can't wish these things away. Instead, they are placed into your lap when you least expect them. In my company, there were the men I cared for and the men I was indifferent for. But then, one day, in on a chopper, came a tall boy, only a couple months older than I was. And I knew the moment I laid eyes on him that I wasn't going to be happy ever again. Because I liked him. 

And that's just as good as a death sentence.


End file.
